


Overheard in the Basement

by iTony



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, One Shot, Pepper Potts Feels, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iTony/pseuds/iTony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper hears Tony swearing in the basement all the time.  But she never really listened.</p><p>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overheard in the Basement

Virginia “Pepper” Potts worked odd hours.  She was, by nature, a morning person; she rose at five every morning and was usually ready to work at six.  However, she didn’t work every day, and on days when she did work, she went home whenever her boss told her to.  Sometimes it was right after noon, and sometimes it was past midnight  Being a personal assistant, she had long grown used to the eccentricities of her client.  Tony Stark was a man who didn’t appear to have any circadian rhythm whatsoever.  Some days, he was unable to get out of bed before noon.  Others, he was unable to get to bed at all, and dismissed her when her head began to droop, even though he was clearly set on working long into the night.  At first, she had felt that his increased insomnia and lethargy was in response to his three-month imprisonment overseas.  He had returned with the same cocky grin and the same sarcastic tone, but his smile no longer reached his eyes, and he often jumped at loud noises.  But as time wore on, she discovered there was more to his bizarre sleep cycles than she’d initially thought.  He was obsessed with two things: the arc reactor that was embedded in his chest, keeping him alive, and his suits.  Tony Stark had never liked to wear suits, and Pepper had tied more ties than she could count for him.  But these were a different brand of suits.  They were suits of armor, and since Tony had returned, he had devoted himself full-time to improving his design.  He would remain awake for days at a time, working in his garage, building armored components, missiles, and the occasional arc reactor.  He listened to loud music to keep himself awake and kept up a steady stream of chatter to the suit he was building. Often, he'd get frantic, and murmur curse words at the machines, threatening to unplug them.  His chest glowed a soft white-blue light while he worked, and it illuminated whatever was in front of him.  Sometimes, Pepper wondered if the light kept him up at night.  Others, she felt he had a classic case of manic-depressive disorder and ought to seek out medical attention.

Whatever the case, she still came to work every day at six, made a pot of coffee, and went through the mail before seeking out Tony.  She checked his bedroom first, and if he was in bed, she’d attempt to get him up.  Some days he came willingly, and others he flatly refused to get up.  If he wasn’t in bed, she’d check the garage; he sometimes fell asleep there and could be roused and put to bed to sleep away the morning.  Pepper used quiet mornings to catch up on paperwork.  Like suits, Tony had never cared much for paperwork; he had long since come to rely on Pepper to read, summarize, and advise him on anything longer than two pages, and would sign nearly anything without reading it as long as Pepper had read it for him.  She had been approving her own time sheets for years.

When she slipped into his house at six that Tuesday morning, all was quiet.  It was summertime and the sun was already up; she didn’t bother to turn on any lights, but walked across the enormous entryway as quietly as possible in the pale morning light towards the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.  Tony drank his black and usually needed at least one cup to get started.  On the counter was a stack of mail.  Security checked it first, so really, Pepper was the second person to go through the contents.  Today’s mail was nothing new.  She made herself a bagel and flipped through the mail methodically.  At seven, she went upstairs to check on Tony.

His room was empty and his bed was made.  A sure-fire sign that he was downstairs, working on his mech suits.  She made her way downstairs to the basement garage, where Tony could often be heard swearing up a storm at his robots.  Another one of his eccentricities: Tony spoke to his robots like they were people, perhaps old friends, and could often be heard chatting away to them.  Some even spoke back.  But on some occasions, perhaps once a week, Tony’s one-sided conversations turned devastatingly cruel, and he would swear at his machines and tools like a sailor, often threatening to toss them into a junk heap and leave them out on the curb.

As she slipped into the garage, she was immediately greeted by the familiar barrage of insults.  Normally she avoided him when he was swearing loudly at his machines because at these times he was at his most productive and preferred to be alone.

She put a hand over her face to hide her smile, but it wasn’t necessary; Tony hadn’t heard her come in because he was making too much noise.  Wearing only jeans and an undershirt, he was shimmering with sweat and grease, and laying on his back beneath a complicated metal panel covered in wires and circuits.  His muscles were shaking with effort as he slowly wrenched a bolt onto the underside of the panel, which was being held for him by one of his many robots.  Beside him, an array of wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools were laid out like soldiers at attention.  She stood quietly, watching his process; she had always found it funny when he talked to his robots.

“You… stupid… idiot!” snapped Tony loudly from under the panel.  “Just… hold it!  Goddamn it, you moron, you can’t do anything right.  You fucking tragedy.  You’re a waste of space, you know that?  Why do I bother to keep you running?  Oh, for _shit’s sake_ , turn, you motherfucking asshole.  Just _turn_ .  Nearly there.  Okay.  Come on.   _Son of a bitch_!”

Pepper perched on the edge of a desk to watch, still smiling.

One of Tony’s hands snaked out from beneath the panel he was working on and groped for a wrench of a different size.  Pepper got up and nudged it with her foot so he could grab it.

“Okay.  Attempt number two,” said Tony, still unaware of Pepper’s presence.  A loud metallic clatter was followed by another round of cursing.  “Shit!  No!  Stop!  Goddamn it!  I swear on the Lamborghini, I will unplug you if you do that one more—mother _fucker_ , that was bad!”  He took a deep, hissing intake of breath and Pepper wondered if he’d hurt himself.  She was just about to ask if he was okay when he interrupted her with more swearing.  “You idiot.  You fucking _stupid_ idiot!  You can’t do anything right!  This is why your dad couldn’t stand you!”  

For a split second, Pepper was confused.  Then it clicked.  Everything clicked.  For months she hadn’t been listening to Tony swear at his robots.  He’d been swearing at himself.

“You know what your problem is?” said Tony, who resumed his slow, agonized wrenching.  “You’re just a weak… pathetic… loser.”  He dropped the wrench, groping around in the tool pile, picked up a small screwdriver, and attacked another part of his machine.  “You asshole, look at this.  This is a disaster.  This is a nightmare.  No wonder you're single.  Goddamn, this looks like a mess.  This looks like you on a Monday morning.”  The screwdriver dropped; Tony grabbed a pair of pliers.  “You should be _ashamed_ , you sad little prick.  This is disgusting.  You’re disgusting.  This design looks like it's trying to commit suicide to get away from itself.  What the hell were you drinking when you did this, huh?”  He wiggled a little further under the panel.

Pepper’s hand was still over her mouth, but she was no longer smiling.  Suddenly Tony’s late-night bouts of yelling at the robots weren’t funny anymore.  She wanted to cry; she wanted to run over and tell him that nothing he was saying was true.  But she had no idea how to do that.  What’s worse, Tony had been at it for ages; nothing she could say would reverse what he’d been convincing himself of all this time.

“Goddamn it.  Fine.  Leave it like that, then, quitter.  See?  This is why you’re such a disappointment.  Because that’s like _that_ now.  You’re a joke.  Running Stark Industries?  Oh my God, you can’t do anything.  This is medieval.  You idiot.  Look at this.  This is all wrong.”  Tony’s voice became muffled; he sounded like he was holding screws in his lips.  But he didn’t stop talking and didn’t stop tinkering.  The only sounds in the basement were Tony’s words and the soft click of metal on metal.

“Who the hell taught you circuits, the Amish?  Why isn't this part on straight?  You weak little asswipe!  Yeah, you!  Fuck you.  I _hate_ you.  You’re the worst.  This is your worst design yet.  I hope you’re happy with yourself.  This is a piece of shit.  Goddamnit.”

Pepper could feel a lump in her throat forming.  When she thought of all the times she’d heard him down here, and the number of hours he’d spent doing this to himself, it made her stomach turn.  How hadn’t she realized?

She got up and inched toward the door, hoping to leave before she had to hear any more, but at just that moment, Tony slid out from under his machine and sat up.

“Oh.  Hi, Pepper,” he said casually, wiping his face with his forearm.  It didn’t do any good; he had oil all over his skin and clothes.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” said Pepper automatically.

“Cup of coffee?” asked Tony.

She nodded, not trusting herself to say anything else.

“Just bring it down here, please.  Thanks,” said Tony.  

As Pepper turned toward the stairs to get Tony his morning coffee, she heard him squirming back beneath his armor.  She had barely finished closing the door behind her as she heard Tony’s voice start up again: “You ignorant little jerk.  This is a mess.  I hope you’re happy with yourself.  This is why no one loves you.  You fuck up everything.  You’re a fuck-up.  I wish you’d never been fixed.”

 

\- End -


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